I love looking at the ocean
I love hearing the ocean
but I hate the sand
and I hate the salt.
I’m not supposed to,
of course.
Who in their right mind
hates being on the beach?
Salt on my fingers
annoys me, too.
I like french fries,
like eating them with my fingers.
I eat a couple
then wipe, wipe, wipe
my fingers
until all the tiny annoying
grains
are gone.
When I was a little girl,
I refused to play in the mud.
Apparently all little girls
like to make mud pies.
All normal little girls, anyway.
I did not,
and that,
like a grain of sand
or salt
annoyed/worried/perplexed/concerned
my mother.
So
one day when I was wearing my
favorite, frilliest panties,
she picked me up,
took me out the door, down the steps, out into the backyard
and plopped me on my ruffles
in the mud puddle.
She still laughs about it,
the mental image of me crying in the mud.
I’d forgotten all about it
until she remembered it to Alison a few weeks ago.
What’s funny to me is
how different
mothers and daughters
can be.
